Britain as she is Visit
by Craic agus Ceol
Summary: America and Canada show up on England's doorstep, looking for a place to spend the night. England is Not Amused, especially when Sealand gets involved. Brotherly fluff and shenanigans abound!
1. And Thus it Begins

**A/n - De-anon from the kink meme. The original prompt asked for brotherly bonding times between England, America, Canada and Sealand. Apparently my plot bunnies saw the prompt and ran a ****cursed ****_marathon _with it, because the fill ended up being the longest piece of fanfiction I've ever written. What.**

**Diclaimer - Sadly, I don't own any of the characters mentioned herein, except for some OCs mentioned in passing.**

**Warning - I mention a _lot _of OCs in passing. Oh, and there is only the poorest excuse for a plot. Can you even _do _Fluff Without Plot? Would that be FwP?**

**Also, for those of you who might have seen the original post, I've cleaned this up some and added a few details here and there. Nothing too drastic.**

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><p><em>All for one and one for all<em>_  
><em>_My brother and my friend__  
><em>_What fun we have__  
><em>_The time we share__  
><em>_Brothers 'til the end.__  
><em>_-Author Unknown_

The last meeting of the conference had ended on a high note, relatively speaking. The only casualties had been the buffet table and the collective sanity of the catering staff, who really should have known not to stand between food and about 200 "delegates." The only real wrinkle had been Sealand's appearance — really, England had _no idea _how the micronation managed to follow him to every meeting — and even that had been neatly dealt with by locking him in an empty conference room.

England attributed the overall smoothness of the conference to the fact that he had hosted it. London really was the best place for world meetings, regardless of where the UN Headquarters were. Hosting the conference also meant he could enjoy all the comforts of home, instead of having to sleep on the uncomfortable mattress in a sparsely-decorated hotel room. Plus, he could actually have a decent cup of tea.

Of course, there was still Sealand to worry about, but the sea fort had spent the entire ride home pouting. It was silly to think he was doing anything different now. He'd come out of his room when he was good and ready, and only then would England lecture him on the importance of world meetings and why a little non-nation like Sealand should refrain from interrupting. Until then, England was content to settle in with a cup of tea and a good book.

Or he _would _have been content, if someone hadn't chosen that exact minute to start banging on the door. And only one person would be creating such an unholy racket, even though he was _supposed _to be on a plane back to the United States.

Therefore, England was hardly surprised to see America standing on his doorstep with a suitcase, hand raised to continue hammering on the door.

"Oh, hi!" America said with a grin, then attempted to push past England to get in the house.

"What are you doing here?" England asked, folding his arms and refusing to budge. Even though America was taller than he was, and he possessed that freakish super-strength, there was _no way _he was getting in the house before he offered a proper explanation.

"I'm visiting!" America chirped cheerfully, and he tried to push past England again.

"He means, our flights were cancelled because of snow," a quieter voice from behind America offered a proper answer, and England realized that America wasn't exactly alone on the doorstep. Standing slightly behind him was Canada, also holding a suitcase. England had no idea how he'd missed him. After all, Canada _was _the tallest nation in the general vicinity, even if America didn't like to admit the fact he was actually shorter than his twin.

"Yeah, so we decided that we'd come stay with you until they get the flights up and running again," America finished with a grin. Would it really have been so difficult just to say that in the first place?

"What was wrong with your hotel?" England asked. He didn't mean to phrase it _quite _so rudely, but America frowned anyway.

"You're not going to let us stay? You can't just throw out a hero!" With that, America succeeded on getting past England and entering the house. England gave a resigned sigh — he knew he wouldn't have been able to keep America out for long, and at least he received _some_ measure of explanation prior to the inevitable — and stood aside to let an apologetic Canada in.

"Dibs on my room!" America called as he bounded up the staircase, the entire house rattling each time his feet hit the floor. England winced and hoped all of his breakables were safely away from table edges. And with that thought in mind, England made a mental note to hide all of his valuables for the entirety of Hurricane America's visit. Egypt and India and Iraq and the others would not be pleased to have their antiques destroyed.

Canada followed America up at a much slower pace, shaking his head at his brother's antics. England could certainly sympathize. He could only imagine the shenanigans poor Canada had to put up with, as America's neighbour. Of course, it couldn't be worse than what England had to put up with in the Isles...

England suddenly _prayed _that Scotland didn't decide to drop by unannounced. It happened from time to time, especially in the winter when the Highlands were under an unceasing deluge of rain. Because there was no way England would be able to put up with America _and _Scotland. And England would very much like his house to still be in one piece when the North American twins finally left.

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><p><strong>I am trying to have a <em>real <em>update schedule for this, since it's already completely written and _mostly _cleaned up.  
>Of course, I make no promises. I am notorious for schedule slip, after all.<br>****Also, would this be considered the ACES family? I am so good at acronyms, you guys.  
>Hope you liked it!<br>****~Craic**


	2. Enter Sealand

**A/n - I'm not going to say I wasn't surprised by the lack of response last chapter, but I'm not going to let it bother me. Of course, if there is a _reason _that people are turned off by the story, please let me know! I'd like to fix it! But I _am _going to post all 16 chapters whether you like it or not. And thanks to the four of you that put the story on alerts! :)**

**Disclaimer - I do not own any of the characters mentioned herein, except a handful of OCs that are mentioned sporadically. Also, I forgot to mention last chapter, but I "borrowed" the title of this story from a spoof tourist guide by Paul Francis Jennings.**

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><p>Sighing, England resettled himself with his book and his tea. With any luck, America would be preoccupied with getting a new flight to come down and bother him. Either that, or Canada would keep him company. There was always the possibility that America would decide to go out on the town — it <em>was<em> London, after all — rather than stay cooped up inside.

Of course, England had no such luck. America entered the room and immediately began uprooting cushions.

"What are you doing?" England asked, after staring at him for a few moments.

"Looking for the remote," America answered. "It's _always _in the couch cushions." England picked up the remote from the side table, where it was sitting in plain sight, and chucked it America's head.

"Ow!" Direct hit, England thought to himself with a small chuckle. "Thanks!" The next several minutes were taken up by America flipping through channels so quickly, England thought he was going to break the television.

"This is my favourite way to watch television," England nearly jumped out of his skin. Luckily he'd set down his tea, or else he would've been wearing it. When had Canada entered the room? "Flipping through channels so quickly you can't tell what's going on? Awesome."

"Shut up," America retorted.

"Eloquent," Canada didn't miss a beat, and he smirked when America shot him a dirty look. He flipped through channels even faster, daring Canada to comment on it.

Canada, of course, wasn't going to have any of this. He leaned over the couch and tried to snatch the remote from America's hands. America predicted the move and held the remote as far away as possible. But due to Canada's height advantage, the only way for America to maintain control of the remote was to scoot away. England quickly found himself with a lapful of a certain North American nation.

"What the bloody — oof! — hell are you doing?" England demanded, once more glad he had left his teacup on the table. Though he was worried that America's flailing limbs might send it crashing across the room.

Naturally, he got no response from either of the nations, who apparently decided the couch (and England's lap) was a perfectly viable place to wrestle. Any attempts to wriggle out or shove America off ultimately failed due to America's sheer weight. A constant diet of hamburgers wrecked havoc on the physique, as England had been telling America for years. Not that America ever listened.

England almost missed Sealand padding into the room, mainly because the young micronation didn't loudly proclaim his identity upon entry. He looked as if he was going to do so, but instead stopped and stared, open-mouthed, at the pile of nations on the couch.

Well, maybe there was hope for Sealand not being as _completely insane _as the rest of England's family.

"Dog-pile on England?" Sealand asked, and England immediately wiped the previous thought from his head. Sealand was _just _as completely insane as everyone else, with England himself being the exception that proved the rule. Obviously.

"Of course not!" England snapped. America and Canada, caught up in their fight over the remote, ignored the younger blond. And Sealand, being Sealand, completely ignored England.

Sealand gave a war-cry that probably would have impressed Scotland and threw himself at the pile of nations on the couch. He landed soundly on Canada's back, causing more or less everyone to experience the unpleasant sensation of air being driven from their lungs.

"What the hell," America began, struggling to get his breath back, but he grinned when he saw a very self-satisfied Sealand sitting on Canada's back. "Hey, Sealand! Nice one!"

"Jerk England! You didn't tell me America and," Sealand paused and thought for a second, "and Canada were coming over!"

"It was a surprise to me, as well," England retorted. "Now if you would all kindly get the hell off me?" As per usual, he was ignored. He wondered if this was how Canada usually felt. No wonder the lad was so sarcastic sometimes.

"Gotcha!" Canada announced, snatching the remote from America's hands.

"No fair, I was distracted!" America protested, swiping for the remote again. But Canada was faster; he sat up, causing Sealand to slide off his back, and held the remote out of America's reach. America leapt off England's lap and into Canada's, scrambling for repossession of the prize. England took the opportunity to get off the couch and leave his crazy younger siblings to their shenanigans.

After a second thought, he picked up his teacup. It had managed to survive the first round, but England knew better than to count on his luck, especially when it was stacked up against America's.

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><p><strong>I realize the chapter breaks are a little awkward and the chapters are short, but it's a holdover from the kink meme that I couldn't quite fix.<br>I hope you like this chapter!  
>The next chapter will probably be posted tomorrow.<br>Until next time!  
>~Craic <strong>


	3. The Good Doctor

**A/n - It's _technically _still Saturday in my country, so I'm still updating on time. Also, if it is not already obvious, I am a _massive _fan of Doctor Who.**

**Disclaimer - I don't own APH or the good Doctor, though I very much wish I did.**

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><p>England resettled in a different part of the house, close enough that he could still hear the occasional shout and rattle of furniture from the living room, but far enough that he wouldn't get drawn into whatever trouble the younger nations were getting into.<p>

After a good twenty minutes or so, everything seemed to calm down. The house was actually quiet, and England took the opportunity to make good headway in his book. It had been recommended by Spain, of all people, and it was an intense mystery surrounding an author and post-WWII Barcelona. England found himself drawn into the book so deeply that it was nearly another twenty minutes before he realized that the house was quiet.

Too quiet.

England had raised America and Canada, as well as Australia and New Zealand. He had grown up with Scotland, Ireland, and Wales, not to mention the Crown Dependencies. He had contributed to the upbringing of Northern Ireland and Hong Kong. England knew that a quiet house was decidedly _not _a good sign. Either something incredibly destructive was about to happen, or it had already happened and the perpetrators were desperately trying to cover it up.

So England was incredibly surprised when he practically skidded into the living room and found his three younger brothers watching television. If it could be called that. America was hiding behind the couch, just peeking over the edge in order to see the television. Canada was half covering his eyes, and Sealand was curled up next to him, hands clutching Canada's sweatshirt sleeve.

"What are you watching?" England asked, looking over at the television. The question was immediately rendered moot when he recognized the shot of a child wearing a gas mask, plaintively asking where his mummy was. No wonder the three were so freaked out.

"Why are your shows so scary?" America demanded, just on the edge of panic. Even so, his attention didn't waver from the show. "No, don't talk to the kid! Run away!"

"It's _Doctor Who_," England said, sitting down on the couch next to Sealand. For once, the micronation didn't make any sort of abrasive comment about his presence. In fact, none of his younger siblings were engaging in any destructive behaviour whatsoever. If the good Doctor inspired them to act like civilized nations, then England was going to buy every DVD of the show he could find. And it would be nice to have _some _sort of common ground between them, for once.

"That doesn't explain why it's scary!" America protested. England rolled his eyes. America had survived wars and terrorist attacks and industrialization and the Great Depression, and he was terrified of a television show. Typical.

"Look. The man in the leather jacket is the Doctor," England began.

"Doctor who?" Canada asked. England couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

"And he travels around space and time in a blue police box called the TARDIS," he continued, opting to ignore the interruption. "That blonde woman is his companion, Rose. They are quite good at getting into trouble, and more than once they've helped prevent an alien invasion."

"But why is it so scary?" America whined.

"It isn't always scary! And this episode is brilliant!" England retorted. "See, the Doctor and Rose are in London during the Blitz, and they have to solve the mystery of the child in the gas mask and not get blown up by the Kraut bastards!"

"So what's the American doing there?" Canada asked, pointing out Captain Jack. America brightened.

"I like him! He's a hero! He saved the blonde woman!" England sighed. Of course America would take to Captain Jack Harkness.

"If you had paid attention instead of hiding, you'd know that he's a Time Agent that went rogue," England neglected to mention that Harkness was probably more like France than America. Likely America would figure it out on his own sooner or later. And if he didn't, all the better. England really didn't want to hear the rant about 'misrepresenting Americans in TV shows' again.

The rest of the episode was spent in silence as four pairs of eyes were glued to the television screen. Yes, England had seen the episode before, but it really was an excellent one. America nearly had a full-blown freak-out when Dr. Constantine fell victim to the horrifying gas mask disease, and Sealand joined America behind the couch when the afflicted people suddenly came to life at the end.

"Not a cliff hanger!" America protested as the episode ended. "The people are going to get the Doctor and Rose and Captain Jack and that one woman with the homeless kids!"

"Nancy," Canada supplied. America bobbed his head in agreement.

"You have to tell me how it ends, England!" America demanded. England rolled his eyes.

"You can watch it yourself. It's an old episode, I'm sure you can get the DVDs when you get home," England pointed out. "In fact, I'm sure your bastardization of BBC airs the show!"

"But that's _your _network!" America pointed out. "I don't watch _your _networks, since mine are better!"

"I beg to differ. You have networks solely devoted to reality television!"

"Maybe I can make my own _Doctor Who_, and it will be full of heroes and it won't be scary so everyone can watch it!" America mused. "It'll have a lot more explosions and guns and they won't travel in a police box — I don't even know what that _is _— and there will be a lot more space battles and there will be more companions so there will be love triangles and _drama _and..."

"Don't you _dare_," England growled, leaning over the back of the couch so he could point menacingly in America's face. "_Doctor Who _is a major part of English culture and it's the longest-running science fiction programme _ever_, and I'm not going to let you make a bastardization like you did _Blackpool _and _Life on Mars_! And stop trying to make your own version of _Top Gear_, dammit!" Potential for 'common ground' or no, England was not going to let America ruin a significant part of his pop culture. Besides, it was his favourite programme.

"It was a joke!" America said, scooting backwards from England. The slightly panicky tone in his voice suggested that it had not, in fact, been a joke, but he knew better than to push the issue.

"Good," England said, sitting back. "Just because _The Office _worked doesn't mean you can turn all of my shows into rote American 'sitcoms.'"

"I promise, I'll leave _Doctor Who _alone," America said. "Pinkie swear?"

"I am not 'pinkie swearing' with you," England replied, eyeballing the proffered finger with distain, "but I'll hold you to that."

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><p><strong>I am a huge fan of British television, I just wish the Americans would stop ripping it off :(<br>Just air episodes of the original shows if you like them so much!  
>Next chapter on Friday!<br>Until next time,  
><strong>**~Craic**


	4. Recipe for Disaster

**A/n - I'm only on the fourth chapter and I'm already going through massive schedule slip. Does it help that this chapter is longer than the previous ones? Not by much, but still!**

**Disclaimer - I don't own any of the nations, _Doctor Who_, or McDonald's. I do own my characterizations of various OC nations, who do not appear in this story but are mentioned in passing.**

**And thanks for the reviews, guys! Especially to **Onlynameleft**, who noticed my derping in Chapter 1. It's fixed now.**

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><p>The tense moment was interrupted by America's stomach growling. Canada rolled his eyes.<p>

"Didn't you have enough to eat at the conference?" he asked his twin. America pouted.

"They didn't have hamburgers, and heroes need to eat a lot to keep being awesome," was his explanation. In England's opinion, America could stand to lose a bit of weight. But after convincing him to preserve the integrity of _Doctor Who_, England wasn't about to start a new argument. Yes, he was capable of tact. He wasn't Ireland. Or America, for that matter.

"I suppose I'm required to feed you as well as house you?" England asked. He pretended not to see the panicked looks. He was a perfectly adequate cook, no matter what anyone said. At least he didn't think deep-fried Mars bars were fine dining.

"Are you sure we can't go out? I thought I saw a McDonalds on the way here," America offered.

"Can I get a Kid's Meal?" Sealand asked. "They have Power Rangers toys!"

"We are not going out when there is plenty of food here," England allowed no room for argument, since he immediately left for the kitchen. Surely the younger nations couldn't argue with him if he wasn't there.

Besides, England was perfectly capable of throwing together a roast. Something quick and easy. He didn't suspect the conspiracy going on in the living room.

"Under no circumstances can we allow England to make dinner," America said, pacing through the room.

"We could have stopped him before he got to the kitchen," Canada pointed out.

"That's not a plan!" America replied, shaking his head. "You need more heroics." Canada seriously considered reminding America just whose shock troops had reigned supreme in WWI, but he knew his brother likely wouldn't recall the incidents in question.

"If we're sneaky, we can pretend to eat whatever he makes and go to McDonalds after," Sealand suggested. "I do it all the time."

"Aren't you made of metal?" America asked, poking Sealand's stomach. "You could probably eat anything and be fine."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean it tastes good," Sealand retorted, squirming as America poked him again.

"You're ticklish?" America asked, a wicked grin forming on his face. "Grab 'im, Canada!"

"Maybe after we get England out of the kitchen?" Canada suggested. The gleam in his eyes mirrored America's smile.

"Good idea," America immediately became thoughtful again. "We'll keep Sealand's plan as backup. Or even if our plan does work. Maybe we can kick England out of the kitchen and drag him to McDonalds!" With that, America dashed out of the living room.

"I thought we were making a plan?" Canada asked nobody in particular. Sealand just shrugged. "We should probably follow him. England might distract him with a Cadbury bar."

The kitchen door crashed open, having been kicked open by a rather over-enthusiastic America. England dropped the pot he was holding — thankfully, it was empty — and glared at the intruder. The glare turned to a look of shock a moment later when America unceremoniously picked him up, threw him over his shoulder, and carried him out of the kitchen.

It took England a moment to register precisely what had happened, but once he did he immediately began flailing and kicking. "Put me down, you wanker!" he protested, hoping that one of his feet would catch America in the stomach or something.

"So that was the plan?" Canada asked as they passed.

America shrugged. "It worked, didn't it?"

"True. Did you turn off everything in the kitchen?" Canada asked. There was a long silence, and Canada rolled his eyes. "At least take his apron off if we're going out."

America's eyes went to the apron that was indeed tied around England's waist. "Isn't that the one France bought him two years ago? I thought he said he was going to burn it." England's face turned bright red, though only Canada and Sealand witnessed it. Both smirked in eerily similar manners.

"Just put me down!"

"Nuh-uh, not until we get to McDonalds. I don't want you James Bond-ing off to cook something," America said. England could hear the smirk in his voice, and he didn't like it. At all.

"I turned off everything in the kitchen," Canada said. Nobody had noticed him leave. "Are we ready to go? I see that England is still wearing that apron."

"I'm not putting him down," America said. "He might try to get back into the kitchen."

"Good point," Canada said with a nod. "Sorry, England."

"Put me down right now, America! I am perfectly capable of walking!" England protested.

"La la la, I can't hear you," America sing-songed.

"I am the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland!" England protested. "I will not be carried around like a child!" He was completely ignored by the other three blonds, much to his annoyance.

"I want a piggy-back ride too!" Sealand piped up.

"This isn't a _ride_, I'm being _manhandled_!"

"Climb on, Sealand," Canada said with a grin, crouching down. Sealand eagerly clambered onto his back, and Canada stood easily. For a nation constructed solely out of steel and concrete, Sealand was lighter than Canada might have expected.

"Mush, Canada, mush!" Sealand cried, kicking his legs. Canada gave America an 'are you kidding me?' look, prompting snickers from the shorter nation.

"You want to trade?" America asked. England was still hurling abuse and protests, which were still falling on deaf ears.

Canada had the good graces to at least _look_ contemplative for a moment before shaking his head.

"C'mon, Canada!" Sealand said, patting his older brother in the head. "If we don't hurry, America and Jerk England will beat us to McDonalds!"

"Oh, it's a race you want?" America asked, a competitive gleam entering his eyes.

"Loser has to pay?" Canada asked, his own competitive streak rising to meet America's. The two might have had the largest unsecured border in the world, but it didn't mean they didn't have rivalries. They were brothers, after all.

"Don't even think about it," England warned, but he knew nobody would listen to him. Nobody _ever _listened to him, even though he was the de facto patriarch of the family. He honestly didn't know why he bothered sometimes.

"Readysetgo!" America shouted, and took off running. Canada, startled by the sudden, rapid countdown, recovered quickly and was in hot pursuit.

It didn't take long for Canada to catch up with America, and they were neck and neck by the time they made it out of the house. England learned quickly that being carried on someone's shoulder was decidedly not comfortable if that person decided to start running at full speed. Sealand, for his part, was shouting encouragement and how if he won, America and England should recognize him as a nation.

The irony of Sealand's demands and his choice in race partners was not lost on England at all.

The weird looks they got from normal Londoners were likewise not lost on England. It wasn't often that people saw two nearly-identical young men dashing through the crowds at full-speed while carrying an excitedly shrieking boy in a sailor suit and a rather irate man in a garish pink apron.

Oh lord, he was still wearing that apron. England was _never _going to live this down.

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><p><strong>Yes, there is stealth!FrUK.<br>But I tried to leave it ambiguous enough for people who do not like FrUK.  
>Also, deep fried Mars bars can actually be found in Scotland. I have eaten one, and it was pretty just have to ignore the fact that you're pretty much eating deep fried death.<br>Until next time!  
>~Craic <strong>


	5. Go Go Power Rangers

**A/n - Another day off work, another chapter. Also, I remember _far _too much about Power Rangers.**

**Disclaimer - I do not own APH, McDonald's, or Power Rangers. I do own any and all OC!Nations mentioned in passing.**

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><p>"You cheated," America complained as they waited for their food. "You were carrying Sealand! I had to lug around Ol' Brow-Face!"<p>

"You wanted to race," Canada said with a shrug. He and Sealand had won the race handily, much to the younger nation's glee. Sealand had proudly taken the achievement as the start of a lasting relationship between the nations of Sealand and Canada. Canada had laughed it off, and wasted no time in teasing America when he finally reached the McDonalds.

"You're the one that made the bet!" America protested, with the slightest hint of a whine in his voice.

Canada was unaffected. "You took the bet, and you're the one that ran up the bill. Do you really need that many hamburgers?"

"I like hamburgers!"

"We're well aware," England said. He'd managed to remove the apron once America _finally _put him down upon arriving at the McDonalds. The cursed thing was currently shoved in an interior pocket of his jacket — ugly as it was, he couldn't bring himself to throw it away. It had been a gift, after all.

"I hope I get the Red Ranger," Sealand said, staring at the toy display. America ruffled his hair, hat and all.

"Of course you do, that's because the Red Ranger is the hero!" America replied, as Sealand fixed his now-askew cap.

"But aren't they all heroes?" Sealand asked. He was well-versed in Power Ranger lore, and he knew that the Red Ranger was usually the leader, but that didn't make the other Rangers less heroic! They all needed to work together to form the Megazord and stop the villains!

"Yeah, but the Red Ranger is the leader, so he's the most heroic," America explained. "Just like me! And Canada's the Blue Ranger, and England's..."

England was giving America a withering glare, causing him to slowly trail off.

"Pink," Canada finished almost absentmindedly. The withering glare was turned on him, and Canada replied with an apologetic smile, as if he hadn't expected to be heard.

Yes, Canada was usually a meek, overlooked nation who was a little too quick to apologize. The operative word, England had learned over the years, was 'usually.' Canada could be quite teasing and downright sarcastic in smaller, less formal groups, such as with his siblings. _Especially _with his siblings.

"Then what am I?" Sealand asked. "I wanted to be the Red Ranger!" Even if all of the Rangers were heroes, the Red Ranger was still Sealand's favourite!

"You can be the Silver Ranger," America decided. "He's almost as awesome as the Red Ranger."

"And that means I get to save you guys when you can't beat the bad guy!" Sealand exclaimed gleefully.

"But the Red Ranger never loses, because he's a hero," America disagreed. "Heroes don't lose."

"Yes they do! That's why there's a Silver Ranger!" Sealand retorted, glaring at America. They both looked as if they were gearing up for a proper row, even if the topic was petty.

"We are not going to have an argument about this," England interrupted, when he realised Canada wasn't going to get involved. Usually, the northern nation was the mediator between America and nearly everyone else —lord knew America needed it. But in this instance, the Northern nation was sipping his soda and watching the proceedings with mild interest. Apparently the argument was too stupid for even Canada to intervene. "It's silly. And I am not the Pink Ranger."

"Well, you're certainly not the Yellow Ranger," America said, his interest completely diverted. "What do you think, Sealand?"

"Green or Black?" Sealand hedged. He didn't look particularly pleased with either of the choices.

"Who would the other Rangers be, anyway?" Canada asked, finally getting involved with the conversation.

"Please don't encourage them," England moaned.

"The rest of the family?" America asked. "We could all go crime-fighting together, and it would be awesome!"

"Ireland would have to be the Green Ranger," Sealand decided, warming up to the topic.

The conversation continued along similar lines until the food arrived. It was determined that the family was much too large to fit in with the usual Power Rangers scheme, especially if the separate entities of the United Kingdom were taken into consideration (which they would have to be, Canada pointed out, lest they get angry at the snub and become Psycho Rangers, a prospect nobody wanted to consider — especially England, who did not want to be considering _any _of the ongoing conversation). A sufficient agreement about what to do with the extra family members and who would be what colour was not reached before their number was called.

Much to England's relief, the topic was more or less completely dropped by the time the food arrived. The relief was short lived when it became apparent that their entire table was going to be overrun with America's truly impressive number of hamburgers.

"You know, if you eat that many hamburgers you're going to get fat," Canada said conversationally.

"I'm not getting fat!" America protested.

"No wonder you lost the race."

"You cheated!"

"Leave your brother alone, Canada," England said, feeling very much like a father. It was hard not to, among these young nations. "Can we please have five minutes without any bloody bickering?"

Canada stuck his tongue out at America, who returned the favour. Honestly, were these two _really _some of the largest and most powerful nations in the world?

"I got the Red Ranger!" Sealand said, pulling out the toy. He pointed it at England and made firing sounds. England rolled his eyes and continued eating his salad. Next time he was going to ask for dressing on the side; he didn't like his greens to be _drowning _in the stuff, thank you very much.

"If you wanted a toy so badly, America," Canada said, noticing the mild jealously in his twin's eyes, "you could have ordered yourself a Happy Meal."

"Good idea!" America brightened. "Do you want one too?"

"I already have a hamburger, thanks," Canada replied, indicating his own rather large meal. America wasn't the _only _one with a bottomless stomach; Canada was just more demure about it. How England had managed keep the pair of them fed through their childhood, he would never know.

America, however, was not going to leave Canada out of the fun. "I'll get you one anyway, with chicken nuggets. Do you want one, England?"

"No."

"Party pooper," America scoffed.

Five minutes later, America returned with two more Happy Meals, leaving behind some very bemused McDonalds employees. England could see them staring at the table, wondering why four people would have so much food.

Another five minutes would have a disappointed America drowning his sorrows in hamburgers, having received the Pink Ranger in his Happy Meal. Canada had refused to trade; he was quite content with his Blue Ranger, and no amount of cajoling, pleading, or force could convince him to give it up. And the hapless McDonalds employees were staring in shock as one man ate more hamburgers than anyone really wanted to count.

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><p><strong>Dammit, now I want hamburgers!<br>****Hope you enjoyed the chapter!  
>Until next time,<br>~Craic **


	6. Fort Roughs, Mark II

**A/n - LATE UPDATE IS LATE. I blame working nearly full time whilst finishing up my degree. Don't do it, kiddies. Also, I _still _remember far too much about Power Rangers. And you do not want to know how much time I spent researching battle cries for this chapter. It was shameful. Oh, and thank you for all the kind reviews! :D**

**Disclaimer - I don't own the usual things, including any and all lines that may or may not have been pilfered from _Calvin and Hobbes_.**

**Also, to the anonymous reviewer who mentioned my language: I apologize if you were offended. Admittedly, I am a paragon of coarse language, but I do try to cut down when I am writing. However, I do not believe the language in this fic - including author's notes - necessitates a higher rating.**

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><p>Getting home was much less of a hassle than getting to McDonalds had been. For one thing, nobody carried anybody against their will, though America did give Sealand a shoulder ride after much pleading from the smaller nation. The pair had run around the streets of London, killing 'Quantrons,' whatever the hell those were. They did get some strange looks, but that was relatively normal when travelling with America.<p>

It was upon returning to England's house that he once more regretted allowing the North American twins to stay at his place until the airports opened up again.

"Hey, England, are you sure this is all of the pillows in the house?" America poked his head into the study, where England had retreated with his book. He just wanted to read in peace and try to forget that his house was overrun by two-thirds of North America.

But at least it was _only _two-thirds. Not for the first time, England caught himself wondering what life would've been like had he 'adopted' Mexico before Spain. Then he shuddered and immediately threw the thought out of his head, as he did every other time he entertained the idea. He liked the girl well enough, and he'd supported her independence, but England knew what shenanigans the three North American nations liked to get up to (well, whenever America and Mexico weren't bickering, at any rate). Two-thirds of North America was enough for England.

And then England was hit in the face by a pillow, effectively breaking him out of his slightly-horrified musing.

"The bloody hell?" England asked, picking up the pillow.

"You didn't answer my question," a rather petulant America responded. "Are you sure these are all the pillows?"

"I promise, I'm not hoarding pillows anywhere," England replied. America gave him a very suspicious look.

"Are you sure?" he asked. England sighed. Of all the things for America to be suspicious of...

"Quite sure."

"You don't have a stash in, like, a closet anywhere, do you?" America asked. England rolled his eyes.

"For the love of... what do you even need them for?" He hadn't asked when America had removed every pillow from the study, deciding he simply didn't want to know. He couldn't imagine that Sealand and the twins could do all that much damage with pillows, anyway.

America perked up. "I'll show you! Come on, England!" He beckoned England out of the room, instructing him to take the pillow projectile with him.

"You do know you will be responsible for cleaning any mess you create, right?" England asked as he followed his brother. America was practically vibrating with excitement. The last time England had seen him so thrilled about something was... well, was when he received his order at McDonalds earlier. Still, it was entertaining how he could get so worked up about things.

"It isn't a mess," America replied decisively. "Forts aren't messes! They are strategically located outposts for defensive and military purposes!"

"Of course they are," England agreed, recalling the not-inconsiderable number of forts he had built during his colonizing days. Then he realized exactly what America was implying. "You built a fort?"

"Well, yeah," America said, as if it had been perfectly obvious from the get-go. "Why else would we need pillows?" England couldn't even formulate a response. It did make a perverse sort of sense, really; there was no other reason to collect every pillow, unless the lads were doing a... pillow inventory or something. They had presumably collected all the blankets as well. England shuddered to think what his linen closets must look like.

Well, Canada was with them. Maybe he had kept things under control?

"You were in _my _room?" England demanded, when he realised where they were. America shrugged.

"It was the biggest room available," he replied. He knocked on the door in some sort of pattern, and received an invitation to open the door. England steeled himself for the horrors that waited within his bedroom.

And yet, he was _still _shocked. No amount of mental fortitude — and England liked to think he had quite a lot — could have prepared him for what had once been his bedroom.

Blankets were strewn _everywhere_. Hanging off chairs, taped to the wall, affixed to bed posts and doorknobs, _everywhere_. There wasn't a visible piece of carpet to be seen. There were blankets that England didn't even know he _had_, which probably contributed to the slightly musty smell to the room.

Some part of England's mind, the part that wasn't struggling to assimilate the destruction of his room, was relieved that he wouldn't have to air out his linen closets anytime soon. And then it wondered how long it had been since some of those blankets had been aired out.

At this point, the rest of England's brain managed to come back online. America was staring at him with a concerned look on his face.

"You OK, England?" he asked. England nodded jerkily. America brightened. "Awesome! You totally spaced out there for a sec. I guess you were overwhelmed by the epicness of our fort!"

"Something like that," England stuttered just slightly. He wondered where his bed had disappeared to. It was probably under those blankets, just like everything else. And yes, his bed sheets were on the other side of the room.

"Hey, America, did you find more pillows?" Canada's head popped up from the general vicinity of England's closet. "We just need a few more for the guard tower."

"The what?" England asked.

"Nah, Iggy says we got 'em all already," America shook his head. Canada actually pouted for a moment.

"Couch cushions?" he suggested. America brightened.

"Nice, bro. I'll be right back," America vanished from the room, with England's protests in his wake. They had already effectively destroyed his room — now they were going to tear apart the living room or study or library, too?

"You like the fort, England?" Canada asked, smirking at him. England scowled. As regrettably forgettable as Canada could be, England was going to make sure to remember this incident and pay it back in full. That went for America and Sealand, too.

"It was my idea!" Sealand chirped. It took England a moment to figure out where the voice was coming from.

"How did you get on the wardrobe?" England demanded, with perhaps the smallest bubble of concern. It was a very large armoire, and Sealand was called a micronation for a reason. While a tumble wouldn't do too much damage, England would very much prefer if his youngest brother didn't come to any harm.

Accompanying Sealand on the armoire was a rather spectacular collection of pillows, which England recognised from various rooms in the house. At least his question of where his pillows had gone was answered.

"Canada gave me a lift," Sealand replied. "And it's not a wardrobe, it's the guard tower."

"I'm keeping an eye on him, I promise," Canada added. "He's not going to fall off, and I'm quite sure we have enough blankets and pillows around if he does."

"I wasn't concerned," England lied. Canada chuckled, obviously not believing him for an instant.

"I found couch cushions!" America reappeared in the doorway, with two of the large cushions tucked under his arms. England pretended not to recognize the cushions from his _nice _couch, the one in the sitting room where he entertained honoured guests.

Canada leapt up from his spot in the fort and immediately tripped, tangled up by the unholy mess of blankets.

"Nice," America commented with a smirk.

"Pillow. Right in the face," Canada quietly threatened, trying to untangle himself from the blankets. America, busy putting the couch cushions up on the wardrobe, didn't bother helping. England sighed and resigned himself to this tomfoolery, lest Canada remain trapped in the blanket cocoon he was currently wrapped in.

How, precisely, Canada had managed to go from sitting in a blanket fort to completely ensconced in blankets was quite beyond England, and it took some manoeuvring between the two of them to get him out. By the time they were done, the top of the armoire was completely covered by pillows and couch cushions, and America was watching the proceedings with no small amount of amusement. It could be assumed that Sealand was watching as well, but the micronation was completely hidden from view.

And once he was out of the blankets, Canada made good on his threat, aided by a pillow deftly plucked from Sealand's 'guard tower.'

"What was that for?" America whined, rubbing his nose after receiving a pillow to the face.

"Laughing at me," Canada replied.

"Oh yeah?" America challenged, suddenly adopting a very cowboy-esque drawl. A moment later, he'd acquired his own pillow and was returning the blow. England stepped to the side as the pair continued hitting each other with pillows, trading good-natured insults.

"Aw, they're ruining my fort," Sealand lamented. England glanced up at him.

"Your fort?"

"Yup," Sealand replied with a nod. "It was my idea. They just helped build it. That's why I'm in the guard tower; I'm in charge."

"You're not in charge," America shouted, overhearing the conversation. He currently had Canada in a headlock, though Canada looked on the verge of escape. "I'm in charge! I'm the oldest!"

"No, you're not," Canada replied, somewhat muffled from the headlock.

"Well, I'm the tallest."

"No, you're not."

"I'm the bestest!"

"That's not even a word," Canada finally squirmed out of the headlock and gave America an appraising look, arms akimbo.

"I designed it, it's my fort!" Sealand said decisively.

"You designed it?" England was rather impressed. Even if Sealand had made a proper mess of his linens and pillows, it was still a rather elaborately designed blanket fort. But then again, what else could England expect of a nation that consisted solely of a defunct sea fort?

"I was building forts before you were even constructed," America was not about to be put out. He received a pillow to the face for his efforts, this time courtesy of Sealand. Once more the room devolved into a pillow fight.

"Yaaaaah!" cried Sealand, nearly giving England a heart attack as he leapt off the armoire. He landed safely in a pile of blankets, just as Canada said he would, and leapt into the fray with his own pillow weapon. By this point, feathers were _everywhere _and the fort was naught more than a disorganized mess of blankets strewn all over the room.

England sighed and picked up his own pillow. There was only one way to put an end to this, and if that meant sacrificing one of his nice throw cushions to the cause, then so be it.

"That was pretty much the most epic thing ever," America said later, over a glass of questionably-coloured soda. There were feathers sticking up out of his hair, with a single large one serving as a white companion to Nantucket.

England wasn't sure where the soda had come from. It certainly wasn't from his refrigerator; if he did buy soda, which he didn't, he certainly wouldn't have bought any in that particular shade of blue. The colour made him wince just looking at it.

"I wish we'd taken pictures," Canada lamented. His hair was also laden with feathers, but he was patiently picking them out.

"I'm rather glad you didn't," England replied. "Please sit still, Sealand." He was currently trying to get the feathers out of the young nation's hair, but Sealand kept squirming to get the biscuits on the table, or his soda, or to address one of his older brothers.

"Nobody's going to believe it if we tell them," Canada said, shaking his head. He grimaced as another feather floated gently from his hair. "Aw, I thought I got all of them."

"Not even close, bro," America replied, smirking. He wasn't even going to bother getting the feathers out. Not yet, anyway. Too much trouble. Half of them would probably fall out on their own before he went to bed, and he'd deal with the other half then.

"That was the best pillow fight ever," Sealand declared. Canada and America voiced their agreements. England allowed a small smile. It had been a good pillow fight, even though a decent portion of his cushions were now permanently out of commission. He had been meaning to replace some of them anyway.

"See, even Ol' Brow-Face agrees," America pointed out. England's smile fell into his trademark scowl. Of all the times for America to actually notice subtle facial expressions...

"How come you never had pillow fights with me before?" Sealand asked, turning bright eyes on England. England sighed and redirected Sealand so he was facing forward again. Those feathers were never going to come out at this rate.

"It's not something a dignified nation does," England replied stiffly. America rolled his eyes, while Canada stared at him blankly.

"I don't really think running in with a pillow and screaming 'Wahoo Mohammed!' is particularly dignified, Iggy," America commented. England flushed despite himself. "And what does that even _mean_?"

"It's just a battle cry," England muttered.

"I would've expected something like 'Rule, Britannia,'" America said. In retrospect, that _would_ have been a much more conventional battle cry, and England knew it. But really, it was his brothers who had the inspiring battle cries. The only proper, historical battle cry England had was in _French_, and England would be damned before he spoke another word of that damn frog's language.

"It sounded familiar to me," Canada mused. England flushed. He had forgotten Canada was there in World War II, where that silly battle cry had originated.

"I don't think England's the Pink Ranger anymore," Sealand decided, talking over Canada — for once, Canada's invisibility played in England's favour, saving him from more questions about his dubious battle cry.

"Yeah," America agreed. "England, you get to be the Green Ranger now."

"Wonderful," England replied. "I'm overjoyed." He very nearly rolled his eyes, both at the topic and Sealand's incessant squirming. He would just let the lad be, if he wasn't positive that leaving the feathers in his hair would result in their being shed all over the house. His room was already a downy mess, one that England was not particularly looking forward to cleaning up.

"Good! Now we can go fight the evil Queen Bansheera!" America declared. Sealand looked about ready to jump up and join him, and England let him with a resigned sigh. At least most of the feathers were out.

"If you're going to tear around, please do it outside," England said. It wasn't a polite request. Enough havoc had been wrecked inside his house.

"But it's cold outside!" America protested. England scoffed.

"You didn't care when you ran to McDonalds," he pointed out.

"Yeah, but it's later now! So it's colder outside!" America wasn't going to let it go without an argument, or at least a good whine. England wasn't going to have any of it. The house was enough of a mess as it was.

"Put on a jumper," England reasoned. America pouted, but Sealand was eager to be out and about again. The small nation jumped off his chair, grabbed America's hand, and dragged him to the coat rack, chattering about how badly they were going to defeat some alien menace or another. Canada trailed afterwards, not keen on being left out of the adventure.

"Are you coming?" Canada asked, pausing to look at England. An immediate refusal jumped to England's lips, but he paused. What was he going to do indoors? Clean up the mess in his bedroom? There was no way he was going to do that by himself. His younger brothers had made the mess; they were going to help him clean up. He thought about his book for a minute, but realized he wasn't going to get any reading done if he was busy worrying about what destruction the twins and Sealand were doing to his yard.

"Fine," England said reluctantly. Canada's bright smile told him he'd made the right decision.

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><p><strong>Footnote:<strong>

**"Wahoo Mohammed" is the traditional battle cry for the British Parachute Regiment. It originated in the North African Campaign of WWII, specifically in Tunisia. The other battle cry is "Dieu et mon droit," French for "God and my right," which evolved into the motto of the English kings. The Irish and the Scots have some pretty good battle cries of their own, but somehow I can't see England using those!**

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><p><strong>I believe this is one of the longer chapters.<br>They still seem far too short to me...  
><strong>**Thanks for bearing with my massive schedule slip.  
>I hope you enjoyed this chapter!<br>Until next time,  
>~Craic <strong>


	7. A Pirate's Life for Me

**A/n - I am supposed to be studying for midterms or writing my _Catch-22 _paper. Oh well.**

**Disclaimer - LOOK AT ALL THE NOTHINGS I OWN.**

**Note: I added a footnote explaining the "Wahoo Mohammed" joke last chapter. I meant to do that in the _first _place, but it completely slipped my mind. Oops.**

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><p>England was seriously regretting joining his younger brothers in the yard, and he wondered what possessed him to agree to it. America was once again sitting on him, shouting something about having captured the most dangerous of all pirates, the dread Captain Browbeard.<p>

"I thought you were going after aliens?" England asked, shifting just slightly. There was a stick jabbing him in the ribs. Perhaps cleaning up blankets and feathers would have been preferable.

"Nah, if we're all Power Rangers, then who would we fight?" America reasoned. "Pirates is easier, because then everyone is trying to catch everyone!"

"Gotcha, America!" Sealand, who had been sneaking toward them — an impressive feat for the rather loud little nation, England thought — poked America in the back with a stick. "Put your hands up!"

"That's Heroic Captain Awesome to you, Captain Roughs!" America said, but Sealand poked him again. America grinned and stood up, his hands in a surrender position. England sighed in relief and moved so the stick wasn't jabbing him in the ribs anymore.

"I captured Captain Awesome and Captain Browbeard in the name of the nation of Sealand!" Sealand announced. "Now other nations _have _to recognize me!"

"Not if I get you first!" Canada appeared out of _nowhere_, as he typically did, and picked Sealand up.

"Captain North to the rescue!" America cheered. England scoffed. That was the best name America could come up with for Canada? Really?

"Captain Rouges will never surrender!" Sealand proclaimed, and he began kicking at his new captor. Canada chuckled; his reach was much too long for Sealand to have any hope of connecting with any of his kicks, but it certainly didn't stop the young nation from trying.

"I suspected as much," he said, "but I know Captain Roughes' weakness!" Sealand paused in his struggles to give Canada a critical look.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked suspiciously. Canada smirked, and one hand danced along Sealand's ribs.

The smaller nation immediately broke out into uncontrollable giggles. "Stop it!"

"Not until you surrender your prisoners to me," Canada decided, and continued the tickling. Sealand shrieked in laughter and began flailing even harder, trying to escape from his captor.

"Not if I get away," America interrupted, "or capture you first!" He had recovered Sealand's stick, where it had been flung during the tickling, and was pointing it at Canada and Sealand. "The Heroic Captain Awesome saves the day!"

"What about England?" Canada asked, tilting his head to one side. America blinked once and whipped around, to find England standing just behind him, still unarmed. England gave America a very dry look. Canada might as well have said 'look, a distraction!'

"England's right there, what do you —" America began, turning back to look at his twin. But the distraction had worked, and Canada was gone. England hadn't even seen him move; Sealand was just standing there, looking as confused as everyone else. "Aw, Canada, that's cheating!"

"You fell for it!" Canada shouted from somewhere nearby. America's head jerked in the direction of the voice and he immediately took off in that direction, leaving England and Sealand alone.

"You're still my prisoner," Sealand reminded England. England sighed.

"If you say so."

There was a scuffle behind some bushes, and America reappeared with a rather embarrassed Canada in tow. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Canada had a few things to learn about staying quiet when one was hiding. He wasn't used to being overheard.

"I have captured the menace known as Captain North," America proclaimed, "and I challenge him to a duel!"

"Oh?" Canada asked, apparently just as surprised as England and Sealand.

"America, you don't propose your captives to a duel," England said flatly. Really, had that boy learned _nothing _when England was a proper naval power? Surely he had picked up _something_!

"But isn't it honourable to challenge your opponent to a duel?" America asked. England sighed.

"You already captured him!"

"But what if Captain North is secretly Captain Awesome'sbrother, and they have to duel in order to see who gets to inherit their father's Pirate Kingdom?" America asked, as if it was a completely normal situation that England _must _have come across during his seafaring years.

"You watch too many films," England decided, not for the first time.

"I'll need a weapon, then," Canada said, apparently accepting the challenge.

"Kick his ass, Canada," Sealand said, handing Canada another stick.

"Language, Sealand," England chided with a frown. All three of his younger brothers rolled their eyes in response. England pretended not to notice.

"Aw, you're not rooting for me?" America asked Sealand. "But I'm the hero! Heroic Captain Awesome, remember? And you're still Canada's prisoner! I'm trying to rescue you!"

"But I think Canada's going to win," Sealand said with a small shrug. "I want to root for the winner."

"But it's my turn to win something! Canada won the race, so I get to win the duel! It's only fair," America directed the last sentence at Canada, as if demanding he follow America's logic. Canada ignored him in favour of inspecting his new weapon.

"I suppose I must officiate," England remarked, folding his arms. If there was going to be a duel, even a mock duel, it would be done correctly. England could still remember when duelling was a gentleman's game, after all. And even if he would never admit it, he had been in a few duels himself. "En garde?" Both combatants adopted a fighting stance, and England had to wonder why America, of all nations, had an excellent fencing form. It was a rather... _posh _sport, not to mention France claimed (in a very Korean fashion) that fencing originated in him.

But America was still America, fencer or not. He didn't wait for a command to start the duel and charged in, stick flying as he made a bold attack against Canada. Canada, having spent nearly his entire life in close contact with America, knew to expect it.

So Sealand's cry of protest at the unfair move — which had secretly pleased England, who decided his gentlemanly ways might be rubbing off on the young nation more than previously thought — was bitten off when Canada expertly blocked the stick and parried effortlessly.

The pair exchanged blows for a few minutes, with America unsurprisingly taking the more offensive stance. At some point, Sealand switched his allegiance and began cheering for America. England smartly stepped away and abandoned his 'officiating' role when one of the branches came a little too close to his head. It wasn't as if they were paying any attention to him anyway. They'd finish their 'duel' when they were good and ready, or when there was food to be had.

On that note, the lads were probably hungry. McDonalds had been a while ago, and England knew the depths of America's (and Canada's, for that matter) stomach better than anyone.

That was a good plan. If England knew America and Canada, and he liked to think he did, then they would be fighting for quite some time. The twins were rather evenly matched, to their eternal annoyance — America liked to think himself stronger than Canada, and Canada _hated _being compared to his brother. The best distraction would be food. England had some frozen pastries that only needed a short stint in the oven.

"Where are you going, England?" Sealand asked, noticing England heading back to the house. "You have to see who wins!"

"I'm just going to make up a quick plate of pastries and biscuits for tea," England replied. Sealand looked rather alarmed.

"But aren't you the judge?" he demanded. England looked over to America and Canada, who were still deeply involved in their duel.

"I hardly think they will pay any attention to me," England decided. "Besides, it is high time for tea."

Sealand could only stare as England went back into the house. He looked back to his older brothers, who hadn't noticed England's disappearance.

It looked like it was going to be up to the mighty Sealand to stop the menace that was England's cooking.

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><p><strong>Will Sealand save the day?<br>Which of the North American twins is a better swordsman?  
>Will England ever get any peace and quiet?<br>Also, it is totally my headcanon that America is secretly a fan of fencing, based on how the women's team did in the 2008 Olympics.  
>I should probably start studying for those midterms now.<br>Until next time,  
><strong>**~Craic **


	8. Pastry Incendiaries

**A/n - Sorry I've been MIA these past few months. Between school and work, I've been practically underwater. Even so, I've had this chapter ready to go for _weeks_. I don't even know why I waited so long to post! You will definitely not have to wait that long for chapter nine, I promise.**

**Disclaimer - I don't own any of the anthropomorphic countries mentioned herein.**

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><p>"What's that smell?" Canada asked, pausing in his assault to sniff the air. America took the opportunity to disarm his brother, wrenching the stick out of his hands. Canada let it go, not willing to continue the fight any longer. A new challenger had appeared, and Canada had a sneaking suspicion that it was England's cooking. Again.<p>

"I told you I'd win!" America announced. Yes, Canada had been distracted, but a win was a win. And it was Canada's fault for letting his guard down to begin with. Really, Canada should take a page out of America's book and _always _be on high alert.

"No, really," Canada said, ignoring America's flawless victory. "I think I smell something burning."

America pouted, but only for a moment. Canada did look concerned over the mysterious burning smell — America could smell it too, now — so in all likelihood he was putting off congratulating America on his victory until the source of the smell was uncovered.

"Smells like burning cookies or something," America decided.

"And where did England go?" Canada asked. The two brothers looked at each other for a long minute, then as one dashed into the house.

Upon reaching the kitchen, all they could do was stare. A soft "Maple" slipped from Canada's lips.

America, as per usual, was not nearly as demure. "What the hell happened in here?" he demanded, surveying the carnage with wide eyes.

Sealand put down the fire extinguisher he was holding. How he managed to wield it, nobody would ever know; the thing was half his size! "I saved the day," he said proudly.

"I think my oven is ruined," England said, slightly unsteadily. In all honesty, he wasn't quite sure how to respond to the situation in his kitchen. He had never seen _anything_ catch fire so quickly. He made a mental note to check the pastry boxes to make sure they didn't actually contain incendiaries.

"Are you alright, England?" Canada asked, tilting his head anxiously. England blinked and shook off the shock. As much as he hated to admit it, this was hardly the first time he set a kitchen on fire. And, knowing his luck, it wouldn't be the last.

"I'm fine," England replied, brushing off the concern. "My oven is a different story. Was it really necessary to empty the _entire _contents of the fire extinguisher?" The last question was directed at Sealand, who scowled in a rather English manner.

"I know what I'm doing, England," Sealand pointed out, with only the slightest hint of a pout. "I can handle a fire."

"Well, I think Sealand saved the day," America said, inspecting the oven. The entire interior was covered in white foam. Sealand beamed at the compliment, all previous annoyance vanishing at the compliment. "What were you trying to _do _in here, England?"

"I was just making tea!"

"I didn't know you needed an oven to make tea. I thought it was just in a kettle!" American said. England sighed in exasperation. America had been his colony for _years _and _still _didn't know tea was an actual meal. It seemed inconceivable, but England knew better than to put anything past America.

Canada smiled and rolled his eyes at America's comment. "I can make tea. Don't worry about it."

"But Canada," America whined, "I don't like tea! Can't you make coffee instead?" Really, England couldn't tell if America was being serious or not. It could be rather hard to tell with the boisterous North American nation.

"Of course, America," Canada replied dryly. How Canada put up with living in such close proximity to America, England would never understand.

Then again, England _did _live with the Isles, and their houses were geographically much closer than America and Canada's. It probably wasn't all that different, all things considered. His brothers certainly weren't the most _mature _bunch around...

"Are we having pancakes?" Sealand asked. "England always makes sandwiches for tea."

"He'd burn anything else," America remarked with a smirk. England glared at him. The glare was accompanied by a blush when America added, "Canada, you remember that one time England made grilled cheese?"

"Ruined my frying pan," Canada said, with only the slightest hint of annoyance in his voice. England had subsequently learned _never _to mess with Canada's frying pans. Even if Canada was far too nice to say anything about it, somebody else was bound to make a snide remark or steal all of England's frying pans in retribution.

England wasn't even going to _ask _why it had been _Prussia _engaging in said frying pan thievery.

"And yes, Sealand," Canada continued, smiling down at the micronation, "I'll make pancakes."

"Does Canada ever cook anything else?" America said. He evaded a playful swat from his twin.

"I could make poutine," Canada suggested, looking thoughtful for a moment. England scowled darkly.

"I will not have that catastrophe of a dish in my house," he stated. Once had been more than enough.

"Fine. Pancakes it is. Now get out of the kitchen, unless you want to clean up the oven," Canada said, making a shooing motion. He liked to cook in peace, something he knew wouldn't happen if America and Sealand were around. On occasion, Canada had to wonder if England's disastrous attempts at cookery were a direct result of having such a rowdy family.

The swinging kitchen door was the only sign that America and Sealand hadn't actually teleported away. England snorted. Just like his younger brothers to avoid any sort of work. Sealand was the one that destroyed the oven; he, at least, should have stayed behind to clean it. Of course, the likelihood of _that _actually happening was slim to nil. Unless, of course, England offered recognition in exchange for cleaning the oven, but he had a sneaking suspicion that such reasoning would not fly on the international stage.

Canada, noting England's continued presence, pointed at him with a whisk. "As much as I enjoy your company, England, I do need to concentrate on cooking. The last thing we need is another kitchen disaster."

England scoffed at the insinuation that his mere presence could ruin the kitchen, but Canada's polite smile suggested he wasn't kidding. So with a sigh, he went to find out what new mess Sealand and America were getting into.

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><p><strong>I imagine Sealand doesn't mess around with fires, since he nearly burned down in 2006.<br>And yes, I _was _alluding to PruCan. But I imagine you need to be wearing the slash goggles to see it.  
>Also, one of these days I should have a chapter ending that isn't awkward as all get out.<br>Thanks for reading and sticking with me despite stupidly long hiatuses!  
>Until next time,<br>~Craic **


	9. An Age Old Dilemma

**A/n - Told you the next update would be much quicker. My class schedule this quarter is dumb and leaves me with massive swathes of free time in which I'm trapped on campus because I don't really live nearby. So that means I'm going to finally finish posting this story! WOO.**

**Disclaimer - I don't own Hetalia or anything affiliated. I do own any and all OCs mentioned in passing.**

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><p>"Precisely what are you doing to my television?" England asked, upon finding America and Sealand back in the living room.<p>

"Just hooking up the Xbox," America said from behind the TV. He poked his head over and looked at Sealand. "I didn't even know you _had _an Xbox. I thought ol' Brow-Face was against gaming. You know, 'kids these days ought to go out and kick a bloody football around, wot wot.'" It was a _horrible _attempt at an English accent.

"I do not sound like that," England growled. America just smirked and ducked back behind the TV. "I am curious where the game thing came from. I certainly didn't buy it for him." England gave Sealand a suspicious look. The younger nation busied himself in digging through a bag of video games, ignoring the comment.

"Thought so," America said, standing up and brushing his hands off. "You know, England, it's dusty as hell back there. You should clean more. Maybe you can hire the Italies!" England twitched. He knew precisely what kind of housework the Italies did, and he would not have it here. His siblings lazed about and destroyed the house enough, thank you.

"I'll deal with it later. I trust you did not wreck my television?" England asked.

"Of course not. I'm the best at electronics," America said. England rolled his eyes, knowing Japan would have choice things to say about the remark, were he less polite and standing in England's living room. "Did you pick a game yet, Sealand?"

"We could shoot zombies," Sealand said, holding up a new horror title. America brightened.

"Where did you get that?" he asked. "I don't even have that yet!"

"No zombie games," England said firmly. He was not about to put up with a terrified America screaming and flailing all over the place. Plus, it would probably give him nightmares, which would result in America stumbling into his room at an ungodly hour, demanding to share his bed so the zombies wouldn't get him.

Hell, it was probably going to happen anyway, after that episode of _Doctor Who_. And, of course, thinking about sleeping reminded England that all of the blankets and pillows in the house were still strewn all over his bedroom. Lovely.

"Well, we could play a different FPS," Sealand said, still going through his collection of games. England wondered where on Earth they'd all come from. He hadn't bought them for the young nation, and Sealand didn't have much in the way of an economy (or an allowance).

"No," America and England said simultaneously, much to England's surprise. One would think that sort of game was right up America's alley.

"Why not?" Sealand demanded.

"They're too violent," England replied evenly, "and you're too young."

"England," Sealand whined, "I'm way older than 17!"

"Besides, America doesn't want to play them," England finished.

"You wouldn't want to either, if you'd ever played Canada," America said. He actually sounded embarrassed. _That_ certainly didn't happen often. "He's way too good. The games end too quickly."

"And you always lose," Canada added. England flinched. Once again, Canada had entered unnoticed. "Pancakes are done, by the way."

"Sweet! We can pick a game while we eat," America said cheerfully. "You do have maple syrup, right?"

Canada gave him a scandalized look. "Who do you think I am, America?"

America gave him a blank look and shrugged. "Dunno. Who are you, anyway?"

"That's it. No pancakes for you," Canada decided. "Sealand, England and I will eat them all, and you don't get any."

"Aw, Canada, I was just kidding," America pleaded. "I know who you are! We're brothers! I promise I recognize you!" The apologies continued as America trailed Canada out of the living room.

"So, where did all of this come from?" England asked Sealand. He tried to sound nice, like it was a simple question and England wasn't annoyed by the presence of the video games. Finland was very, very good at that 'sweet-but-dangerous' tone, and England had been (unsuccessfully) trying to copy it for years.

Apparently it didn't work, because after a moment of staring at England, Sealand dashed off toward the kitchen. England sighed. To be honest, the video games weren't that much of a mystery. Each and every one of his brothers would delight in entertaining Sealand and irritating England.

Tea was a quiet affair, much quieter than England was used to when he had guests. America was eating so quickly he had no time for words, either because he was hungry or he was worried Canada would renege on his decision to let America have pancakes. Sealand was studiously trying to avoid England's attention. England was content to eat in peace, after a long, muttering rant about annoying North American nations who didn't put the kettle on for tea.

It wasn't until after the pancakes were done that the question of video games was brought up again. "So, what are we going to play? There has to be something for the four of us," America mused. "And no FPSes."

"Or zombies," England added, over his cup of tea.

"Or zombies," America agreed. "We don't want to scare the kids." He ruffled Canada's hair and pulled on Sealand's hat. Both scowled.

"I'm not a kid!" Sealand protested. "I'm a _nation_!"

"I'm older than you are, America," Canada reminded him.

"No you're not, I got independence first," America pointed out. England groaned. Not _this _again!

"But I was discovered first. Remember L'Anse aux Meadows?" Canada asked. "And then we asked Norway about it?"

"Alaska was discovered _way _before Vinland!"

"The Palaeolithic Era doesn't count!"

"Boys, we are not going to have this argument again," England interrupted. Once the two got started on the silly issue of who was older, it would be nearly impossible to get them to stop. Usually Canada was happy to let America think he was the eldest, since America was quite obviously the dominant twin. But England knew Canada secretly believed he was the eldest — Canada's hazy memories of the Nordics had a lot to do with it — and from time to time, he wasn't afraid to let America know it.

"He started it," America said, pointing at Canada.

"I don't care who started it," England replied. "Just shut up."

"I know!" Sealand suddenly perked up. "I just got Rock Band from Wales and... oops." Sealand shot a guilty look at England, who was smirking despite himself. Though Wales hadn't been very high on England's list of suspects, he knew his (self-proclaimed) musically-inclined brother wouldn't have been able to pass up giving Sealand a music game. Besides, Wales would know who the real culprits were, and Wales was reasonably easy to crack — well, easier than, say, Isle of Man, at any rate.

"I love Rock Band!" America said with a wide grin. "Rock music originated in America!"

"Now you sound like South Korea," Canada said with a smirk. "Don't let him hear you say things like that."

"At least I'm telling the truth," America retorted. Even Canada had to give him that one, much to his annoyance.

"It's a four-person game, so everyone can play," Sealand added. "I want to play guitar!"

"But I'm the hero, and the hero always gets to play guitar," America pouted.

"I thought the hero was the lead singer?" Canada asked. He already resigned himself to the bass. What other instrument could he play?

"Yeah, but the guitar is cooler," America replied. "Chicks dig guys who can play guitars."

Canada snorted and muttered something that England didn't quite catch. America, however, must have overheard him, if the scowl on his face and the sudden flush were any indication.

"You promised to keep that a secret!" America growled. England arched his eyebrows, wondering what (or, more likely, _who_) Canada had insinuated. Not that America's love life was any of his concern. Unless it was France, in which case he was going to have serious words with his younger brother about acceptable romantic interests.

"I didn't say anything," Canada said, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

"You were thinking it," America accused. "Loudly." Canada shrugged, his face the perfect image of innocence. Nobody believed it for a moment.

"Can we just go play now?" Sealand interrupted, before the argument could progress further. "Please?"

"Someone has to do the dishes," Canada said, looking over at the stove guiltily. Now, in addition to the foamy oven mess, there was also a collection of dirty plates, bowls, and pans.

"Do them later," Sealand declared. "It's time for Rock Band!"

"Yes!" America agreed. He scooped up the micronation and headed for the living room.

"But the dishes," Canada trailed off. He sighed. "I guess I'll do them, then."

"If you like," England replied only half paying attention. He wondered how long he could trust his younger siblings to go without getting in a fight or breaking something. He really wanted to get back to his book.

"England! Canada! We don't have a full band unless you play!" America's voice rang through the house. The windows rattled. England feared for his china.

"The dishes will have to wait, I suppose," Canada said with a sigh. "I promise I'll do them later. I'll even try to rope America into helping!"

"Good luck," England snorted.

"Are you guys coming or what?" America asked, poking his head into the kitchen. "Rock Band isn't going to play itself, you know. And I _never _get to play with a full band, because nobody _ever _wants to come over to play with me. Apparently I'm 'too far away to visit just for video games.'" He accompanied the last statement with finger quotes and a roll of his eyes.

Canada gave America a Look.

"Nobody comes over except Canada," America amended.

"You could just let Mexico visit every now and then," England said. America pointedly ignored him.

"So are you coming or do I have to carry you?" America asked. "I could do it. I'm the strongest nation in the world!"

"Alright, alright," Canada said with a grin. "Did you and Sealand figure out who was guitarist?"

"We're going to take turns," America said. England was mildly shocked that such a resolution had been reached so quickly. Maybe it wasn't too much to hope his younger brothers would finally act in a more mature fashion.

No sooner had that thought gone through his mind when America followed up with, "Come on, England! We don't have all night!"

"I never said I wanted to have anything to do with this," England said, not looking at America. If he looked, then America would take that as an invitation to carry him off. He had to remain properly indifferent.

"But we won't have a full band without you," America whined. "I'll even let you play guitar! After I go, of course."

"Just leave him alone," Canada intervened. England looked up to thank him, but Canada wasn't finished. "We could always call up Northern Ireland or Scotland. I'm sure they'd love to play."

"You will do no such thing!" England snapped. The last thing he needed was _more _loud, immature nations in his house. It was wrecked enough, thank you very much.

"So you'll play?" America asked. England sighed. He knew when he was beaten, even if he didn't want to admit it. He hated it when North America teamed up on him.

"If I must," England replied. He was faced with two identical grins as the twins grabbed him and began dragging him toward the living room. He followed, not even bothering to tell them he was more than capable of walking on his own. Sometimes it was better to just go along with things. They often ended faster that way.

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><p><strong>Historical Note:<strong>

**I dropped a lot of historical in-jokes on you guys here, so have some explanation.**

**L'Anse aux Meadows is an archaeological site in Newfoundland, Canada. It's a Viking site, the only one found in North America (outside of Greenland), and more or less serves as proof of pre-Colombian Viking discovery of North America. ****Vinland is the name given to North America by the pre-Colombian Vikings. L'Anse aux Meadows is supposedly the entrance to the Vinland region.  
><strong>

**The Isle of Man, mentioned here in passing, is a small island in the Irish Sea between Britain and Ireland and a Crown Dependency of the United Kingdom. British Crown Dependencies are not technically part of the United Kingdom and are actually self-governing in domestic matters. International matters, however, fall under the scope of the British government. Basically, Crown Dependencies are the domestic equivalent of an overseas territory. Fun fact, the Isle of Man was a Norse settlement for a couple hundred years.**

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><p><strong>An FPS is a First-Person Shooter, such as the Halo games. I'm incredibly bad at them.<br>I debated long and hard about having more references to PruCan here, but I ultimately decided against it to maintain ambiguity.  
>Also, I do not ship America with anyone so I left it up to the reader.<br>I would love to write a story someday about the Nordic heritage of the Americas.**

**Until next time!  
>~Craic<strong>


	10. Bickering

**A/n - Look, a timely update! I can't believe it either! It is mostly because I decided to update rather than study for my German quiz. Pity this isn't one of my better chapters.**

**Disclaimer - I don't own the game Rock Band, any of the bands mentioned herein, Cadbury bars, or the ACES family. I do own the anthropomorphic representations of the rest of the British Isles, who never actually appear despite constant references to them.**

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><p>Rock Band turned out to be not quite as awful as England predicted. Yes, America mangled all the song lyrics. Yes, Sealand was woefully uneducated on decent bands. Yes, everyone forgot Canada was actually on bass until someone inevitably needed to be rescued, in which case he would leap in with a timely Star Power. And yes, none of the instruments had any relation to the real things, which resulted in <em>everyone <em>failing from time to time.

"America, for the last bloody time, give me the microphone," England growled, waving a drumstick menacingly. He'd been relegated to the drums in an effort to keep the guitar vs. microphone situation to a minimum; the last thing he wanted was to renew the argument. The drum set was difficult, but he'd gotten the hang of it after a few songs.

"But it's my turn!" America whined.

"The Rolling Stones is _my _band!" England was not about to let this up without a fight. America was notoriously bad at song lyrics, even with his own bands. Rock music may have originated in the United States, but that didn't mean America himself was particularly _good _at it. In fact, his singing voice left much to be desired.

"So? I can listen to them, too!" America retorted, holding the microphone just out of reach. "And if I let you take my turn, then Sealand gets to go twice and that's not fair!"

"Then Canada can take Sealand's turn, and it'll all even out. I'm sure he knows some of your music," England said, making a swipe for the microphone. Why did America have to be so bloody _tall_?

"Actually, Rush -" Canada began.

"But I don't want to play bass!" Sealand complained. "Bass is a lame instrument!"

"Bass is not -" Canada tried again.

"Well I'm not going to play bass," America declared. "You're the smallest, Sealand, you have to play bass!"

"That's not fair!" Sealand whined.

"It's fair if I say so," America retorted. "Ow, England, you're standing on my foot!" England stomped harder. America might be taller, but England was definitely scrappier. Years of being a dominant force on the high seas (_not _a pirate, dammit!) meant England had a few fighting tricks up his sleeve. And, as loathe as he was to admit it, he was used to fighting off enemies a lot taller than he was.

"Just give me the microphone!" England growled, making another swipe for it. Nobody was paying any attention to the game anymore, but England wasn't going to give up the microphone. It was the principle of the thing!

"Does anybody want a Cadbury bar?" Canada's voice finally broke through the squabbling. Three pairs of eyes — two blue, one green — snapped to him. Canada just smiled and held four candy bars up.

"I do!" Sealand said with a grin and grabby hands. "I want the double choc one! Please, Canada?" Canada held the candy bar out to Sealand, but quickly jerked his hand back as a certain jacket-clad nation made a grab for it. America wasn't able to check his lunge, having expected to snatch the candy bar and use Canada to counterbalance himself, and ended up sprawled on the floor.

"Sealand said the magic word," Canada said, handing the candy bar to Sealand.

"Was it 'please' or 'Canada?'" America asked.

"Boys," England warned, seeing the look on Canada's face. The temperature in the room had actually dropped several degrees, and England prayed the warning would work. He wanted to avoid more fighting than was strictly necessary. Of course, Canada wasn't likely to forget the teasing and would likely retaliate later, but at least he didn't kick America while he was down. England had been a little worried.

"So can I have the milk chocolate one, then? Please?" America asked, still on the floor. Either he hadn't realised the implications of his comment, or he was blithely ignoring them. At any rate, America was doing his best at those puppy dog eyes England hated so much. He could never deny his former colonies anything when they pulled the puppy dog eyes.

"No, that's England's. You get the Fruit and Nut bar," Canada said, handing America the chocolate bar in question. Apparently Canada was immune to the puppy dog eyes. America even pouted a bit. He considered the Fruit and Nut bar to be vastly inferior to the other Cadbury Dairy Milk bars. In fact, nobody in the family preferred the Fruit and Nut bars; England had to wonder why Canada had bought one at all. When did Canada go buy chocolates, anyway?

"What's the last one?" Sealand asked, already halfway through his chocolate bar. The chocolate filling was getting absolutely everywhere. England couldn't even bring himself to be annoyed. For one thing, the proper couch cushions were still in his bedroom, so they weren't at any risk of being destroyed. For another, he had already resigned himself to giving the entire house a good scrubbing after his brothers left. What was one more carpet or sailor suit?

"Caramel," Canada said with a grin. Of course. In the absence of a maple-flavoured Cadbury bar — which he had been pressuring England to develop for _years_ — Caramel was Canada's favourite. England was slightly flattered that Canada remembered England's favourite was the plain chocolate one — a fact that earned him no small amount of ridicule among the family, who preferred their chocolate with some sort of accompaniment. Except Fruit and Nut.

America, still on the floor, yawned hugely. The candy bar was naught more than a wrapper on the floor, which England glared at. America, being America, didn't catch the implied request and instead whined, "I'm tired, England."

"It's only a five hour time difference," Canada said with a small snort, "and I would've thought you caught up, what with all the dozing off you did in the meetings."

"I can't help it if everyone's plans are so _boring_," America whined. He yawned again. It was truly amazing how quickly America could shift gears, even after eating a chocolate bar. "I'm going to fall asleep right here on the floor if we don't do something."

"You could clean up the kitchen," England reminded him. "My bedroom is a bit of a mess as well. And don't forget, you dragged out this game-thing." He gestured to the abandoned Rock Band instruments.

"But cleaning up is boring!"

"How about a board game?" Canada suggested. "There must be some lying around somewhere. You always seem to have one around at Christmas."

Yes, England did always try to engage his family in a friendly board game during Christmas. It seemed like the proper familial thing to do. He had seen advert after advert with happy families, laughing as they played Monopoly or Trivial Pursuit together.

But England's family was not a normal family and were completely incapable of being civil long enough to play a full game. Monopoly had ended up with a pewter playing piece up someone's nose, the banker nearly receiving a shillelagh to the face, and so much flagrant disregard for the rules that even America's business leaders would have been ashamed. Cluedo had nearly resulted in the dagger piece being used as an actual dagger and several phone calls to the CID. Trivial Pursuit had descended into bickering over who _really _remembered what happened to the Thirteen Treasures of the Island of Britain and much throwing of wedges. The less said about Risk, the better.

So board games were probably a bad plan. But they had to do something. It was much too early for bed yet, and England shuddered to think what hi-jinks his siblings would get up to without his supervision, even if America was half asleep on the carpet already. England certainly wouldn't put sleepwalking into trouble past him.

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><p><strong>Footnotes:<strong>

**To Non-British readers: the CID is the Criminal Investigation Department, a branch of the British Police. The branch is comprised of plain-clothes detectives. Also, "Cluedo" is the British name for the game "Clue."  
><strong>

**The Thirteen Treasures of the Island of Britain are magic items from medieval Welsh of them bear connection to the King Arthur legends. Despite being from Welsh tales, the treasures are supposedly from throughout the UK, particularly northern England and southern Scotland.**

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><p><strong>England definitely seems like the type to want a "traditional Christmas" of getting the family together and playing parlor games.<br>Pity the rest of his family is comprised of hooligans.  
><strong>**I like to think Canada always has chocolate on hand, just so he can distract America when he gets a little too carried away.  
>I keep wanting to write Christmas stories centered on England and the Isles, but I never seem to get around to it... oh well.<br>**

**Until next time!  
>~Craic <strong>


	11. The Classic Chick Flick

**A/n - I was _just about _to publish this chapter, and then the Internet ate it. Also, you can tell how old this chapter is by the movie references. Also, thank you for the brilliant reviews! I don't say that enough, but I love you guys. :D**

**Disclaimer - I don't own any of the main characters or films mentioned herein. I do own the anthropomorphic representations of the rest of the UK and the British Crown Dependencies.**

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><p>"We'll just put in a film," England decided. America perked up at that suggestion.<p>

"Oh, I love movies! I really want to watch the one about the cowboy and the girl who wants revenge for her father's death! I haven't seen it yet!" he said excitedly, finally standing up from the carpet.

Canada stared at him. "You haven't seen _True Grit _yet? I thought you would've gone opening night!"

"I've been busy, and I didn't want to go by myself," America retorted defensively.

"I don't have that on DVD anyway," England said, shaking his head.

"What _do_ you have?" America asked. "Sealand, where does Brow-Face keep his movies?"

"Over there," Sealand said, pointing to an unobtrusive shelf. "But all he has are history movies and girlie movies."

"I don't have any girlie movies!"

"You have _Gone with the Wind_," America said, already poking through the DVD collection. "And _Casablanca_."

"Those are _classics_!"

"_Bridget Jones's Diary _is not a classic."

England could only blush in response to that. The surprise visit meant he hadn't had a chance to purge his film collection before it was discovered. Usually he was good about hiding his "guilty pleasure" films. England wasn't an idiot — he knew he'd never hear the end of it now. At least it wasn't _Scotland_ who found the films. Or, God forbid, France.

"Is this seriously _When Harry Met Sally_?" America asked, waving the DVD case in question. England stormed over and snatched the DVD out of America's hands, amidst knowing smirks from the twins and outright snickering from Sealand.

"Sark and Alderney must have left their films here last time they visited," England said. It was as good an excuse as any, and there was a good chance it was at least partially true. His nieces did love a good chick-flick from time to time, and they sometimes brought films with them for when the weather was inclement and they didn't feel like watching the bloody action films England's brothers preferred.

"Sure," America said, in a drawn-out tone of disbelief. "Well, I guess there's always _Indiana Jones_. You can't go wrong with a good ol' American action hero."

"You mean the worst archaeologist ever, right?" Canada asked. "And don't even try to tell me he's not a bad archaeologist. Remember when we watched the film with South America? Peru stormed out after the first sequence, shouting something about destroying priceless Inca ruins."

Yes, America remembered that. He had been so excited to share the film with his more southerly neighbours, especially since it included some of their ancient cultures. It had taken a long time for Peru to forgive him.

"I unhooked the Xbox," Sealand chirped, "and set it up for DVDs. You know, America, I can get you _True Grit _if you really want it." England frowned. He didn't approve of Sealand's penchant for Internet piracy. He could only guess at where he'd picked it up. But Sealand was outside his jurisdiction for that sort of thing, and some part of England couldn't help but be a little flattered that Sealand was picking up piracy. Not that internet piracy was any way related to seafaring piracy, or that England was ever a pirate, of course.

"Really?" America asked, perking up. Sealand nodded.

"I'll send you the link later," he said with a wide grin. America ruffled his hat again, pulling it down over Sealand's eyes. Sealand pulled it back up with a scowl.

"Thanks, kiddo!" America said as he crouched to put the DVD in. England sighed at his cushion-less couch. It wouldn't be terribly comfortable to sit on the ground for the duration of the film, especially since the throw pillows — like the couch cushions — were in his bedroom.

Or so he thought. Canada walked into the room, couch cushions tucked under one arm and throw pillows under the other, and offered a small smile to England's bewildered look. "I thought we might want these," he said, shrugging. "Do you have any popcorn, England?"

"Ooh, I hope so!" America's eyes lit up. Nothing was better than an action flick and popcorn, and a soda, and some candy, and ice cream, and a slushee, and hamburgers of course...

"I might," England said with a frown. What with half the family traipsing in whenever they felt like it, England's food supplies — particularly snack foods — were rather fluid. And the kitchen was still a bit disastrous. He didn't look forward to searching for popcorn.

"I'll go look!" America volunteered, leaping up from the couch. But he was intercepted by Canada, who pushed the load of cushions and pillows into his hands as he tried to pass by.

"Oh no you don't," Canada admonished. "You'll drag the entire contents of the kitchen in here. England's graciously giving us someplace to stay tonight; I really doubt we should eat him out of house and home." England kindly didn't mention how the twins had more or less barged in and demanded a place to stay. It wouldn't be polite. Besides, he was used to that sort of thing.

"But Canada," America whined from underneath the stack of cushions.

"It's my kitchen," England offered. "I'm quite sure I can find something edible for you." He _was_ the host, after all. The fact that his guests were family and ungrateful freeloaders (Canada mostly exempted) was irrelevant. He should be the one handling the food.

"No, it's fine. You stay sitting and enjoy the film," Canada seemed almost desperate to keep him in the living room. England didn't bother wondering why. Even so, he didn't get a chance to insist he was the host before Canada disappeared from the room.

One of these days England was going to figure out how on Earth Canada managed to be so bloody stealthy. He was the second largest nation in the world; he had no right to be so bloody invisible!

England kept a close eye out for Canada's inevitable return. He wasn't going to let his former charge startle him again! Besides, he had seen the film plenty of times before. It was a personal favourite of America's, despite the title character's treatment of ancient artefacts.

He needn't have bothered. America gleefully and physically accosted Canada upon his re-entering the room and snatched away the bowl of popcorn. At least he was careful to keep the popcorn in the bowl. It would be nice for at least _one _room in England's house to remain mostly disaster-free.

"I can't believe you started without me," Canada said, joining them on the couch. He didn't seem to mind the theft of the popcorn bowl or America's over-enthusiastic greeting. He did mind, however, when America tried to keep the popcorn to himself and gave his brother a good whack on the back of the head. "What did I miss?"

"You've seen this a million times," America said around a mouthful of popcorn. England grimaced. He was sure he had taught his brother better manners than that.

"We're just at the bit with the rock," Sealand said. "Like at Disneyland."

"Ooh, I haven't been there in years!" America's eyes lit up. "We'll definitely go next time you come over, kiddo. Did you know Canada's scared of the Haunted Mansion?"

"Am not!"

"And we'll go on all the rides," American continued, undeterred, "and eat churros and hamburgers and clam chowder and hot dogs..."

"Can we please just watch the film?" England asked. Though he'd seen Indiana Jones a million times, he hated it when people talked during films. Plus, England was not quite as easy to ignore as Canada was, and America trailed off and pouted.

"England's not invited," Sealand whispered. America nodded. England just rolled his eyes.

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><p><strong>Note: Sark and Alderney are two small islands in the English Channel. They are part of the Bailiwick of Guernsey, another British Crown Dependency. Fun Facts: Alderney has a fascinating WWII history, involving construction of concentration camps and Royal Navy blockades. On a slightly more amusing note, a French physicist attempted a sole takeover of Sark in 1990.<strong>

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><p><strong>Only five more chapters to go!<br>Yes, _five_.  
>I sure hope you guys enjoy ACES family derping, because that's what you're going to get.<br>I bet the ACES (or FACE or my British Isles) family would be _amazing _at Disneyland.  
>Until next time!<br>~Craic **


	12. A Pillow Fort Campground

**A/n - what are deadlines and timely updating schedules**

**Disclaimer - I pretty much own nothing mentioned herein. This is also my least favorite chapter.**

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><p>The end credits were rolling. The film was brilliant, as usual — but then again, how could one of America's action films <em>not <em>be brilliant? Sure, the Italies _tried _to match him with their Spaghetti Westerns, and Hong Kong's martial arts flicks weren't bad, but America cornered the market on action movies.

Of course, he couldn't help but feel at least slightly annoyed that everyone had fallen asleep.

England always slept through movies, though, so his soft snoring came as no surprise. America highly suspected England fell asleep while watching the first recorded film, and that was only two seconds long. He _definitely _fell asleep during France's movie of people leaving a factory, much to France's annoyance. There was just something about watching a movie that told England it was bedtime, even when he didn't have the "dark cinema" excuse to fall back on.

Though really, America figured a dark cinema would be the _last _place someone would want to sleep. France had a tendency to get grabby when the lights were off, and he was known to frequent movie theaters.

Sealand, America decided, was probably just tired. Between the pillow forts, Power Rangers, front yard piracy and saving the kitchen from certain doom, the young nation was thoroughly pooped. He'd barely lasted half the movie before (apparently) deciding America's lap was highly superior to England's throw pillows and falling asleep right on top of his big brother.

Canada, though, was a bit odd. He rarely fell asleep during movies. But there he was with his head pillowed on America's shoulder, glasses digging into the side of his face. And into America's arm. It wasn't really comfortable for either of them, but America wasn't about to wake his twin up if he didn't have to.

No matter _what _England said, America was perfectly capable of acting in an unselfish manner.

"Is the film over?" So Canada wasn't all the way asleep, but the slur in his voice suggested he was only barely on this side of conscious.

"Yup," Canada perked up a bit at America's response and sat up. He rubbed his eyes and stretched. "Did you have a nice nap?"

"I wasn't asleep," Canada retorted. "I was just resting my eyes."

"Sure," America drawled, "and England is the most recent winner of _MasterChef_."

"I will admit you make a nice pillow," Canada said with a smirk. He was wide awake now. "Apparently Sealand agrees."

"I'm awesome at everything, even being a pillow," America said with a nod. "What should we do with Eyebrows and Eyebrows Jr.?"

"None of the beds are made," Canada replied. "I seem to remember all of the blankets are in a pile on the floor of England's room."

"We could sleep on that," America suggested.

"Sleep on what?" England asked groggily, finally waking up. He regarded the twins with sleepy suspicion. He was well aware all the bedding in the house was on the floor of his room, and he didn't quite like what America was suggesting.

"The floor of your room," America said cheerfully. "All of the bedding is there and the duvets will be comfy enough to sleep on."

"I guess it's better than nothing," England admitted. The only other option was the couch, and it was highly unlikely three grown nations and a micronation could comfortably fit.

"Did you seriously just agree with me?" America wasn't quite able to prevent himself from asking. "And say you would sleep on a _floor_?"

"I'll carry Sealand up," Canada quickly interrupted before England could fully comprehend America's questions. The last thing he wanted was for England to decide it was imperative they clean up the mess on the floor of his room and make up all the beds before sleep. It would take far too long and it was late enough already.

He scooped Sealand up from America's lap and carried him easily out of the room, leaving America and England behind. America stood up and stretched, cracking his neck and shoulders. England winced, but knew any admonishments would fall on deaf ears. America _knew _England hated that sound, which of course meant he took every opportunity to crack his joints whenever England was in earshot.

"Last one up is a rotten egg," America said with a grin, then charged out of the room. England rolled his eyes and followed at a much more sedate pace.

By the time he made it up to the room, Canada had already settled Sealand into the nest of blankets and was making a spot for himself. America was nowhere in sight, but a minor inquiry revealed he was off collecting his and Canada's nightclothes.

He bounded in a few moments later, prompting Canada to whip a pillow at him and tell him to shut up. He needn't have worried. Sealand was a heavy sleeper; nothing short of a problem with his country or an air-raid siren would wake him up, much to England's frequent annoyance.

"Thanks for putting us up, England," Canada said, once they had all settled into the mess of blankets and pillows covering England's bedroom.

"Of course," England said with a yawn. It really was late. "Did you check to see if your flights were rescheduled?"

"Rescheduled?" America asked. There was another soft thump, indicating another pillow had been thrown.

"Yes, the airports have opened up. We'll fly out tomorrow," Canada answered the question. "Good night."

"Pleasant dreams," England replied, curling into his blankets. Sleeping on the floor like this wasn't all that awful, truth be told. With the sheer number of pillows and linens, it wasn't uncomfortable. And it was certainly preferable to making up all the beds at this hour.

Then something occurred to him.

"America, what did you mean, 'rescheduled?'" England asked, rolling over get a good look at the lump of blankets that was America.

"Nothing," America said. "I just didn't hear you properly."

England didn't need to see America to know he was fidgeting and shifting his eyes uncomfortably. He had known America long enough to know when he was lying even without the telltale visual hints. There was something more going on here than just a delayed flight, and England was going to get to the bottom of it.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Roundhay Garden Scene <em>is the first recorded film, made in Leeds, England in 1888. You can find it on YouTube!  
>The first "real" motion picture is <em>La Sortie des usines Lumière à Lyon <em>(aka _Workers Leaving The Lumière Factory in Lyon_), filmed in Lyon, France in 1895. It can also be found on YouTube.  
>I think this is the chapter I wrote when I spontaneously decided my fluff piece needed plot, and I am disappointed with myself for attempting to shoehorn it in. Aaargh.<br>I'm pretty sure I won't take a bajillion months between updates again, but I make no promises because I'm now working all the time for a company I hate.  
>Real life is terrible.<br>****Until next time!  
><strong>**~Craic**


	13. A Devious Plot

**A/n - I'm just going to quietly leave this here and back away slowly, and hopefully I'll slink back in before another four-ish months pass.**

**Disclaimer - I still don't own most things.**

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><p>"Alright, boys," England said, sitting up and switching on a lamp. He fixed the twins with his sternest disapproving look. This particular disapproving look was England's pride and joy. Even America at his oblivious best knew this look meant bad news.<p>

Of course, because they fully expected the disapproving look, both North Americans were carefully ignoring England. Canada was curled facing away from him, and America had his eyes tightly closed, emitting laughably fake snores in an attempt to feign sleep.

But England wasn't having any of it. "I know you're both awake, so I would appreciate it if you told me precisely what you're doing here." The fake snores stopped with a strangled croak, and Canada shifted just enough to see England.

"Our plane got cancelled because of snow and -" America began, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a poor attempt at lying. England hardened his glare — it was now somewhere between 'disapproving' and 'rather annoyed' — and America stuttered to a stop.

"Actually, our flight is for tomorrow," Canada admitted. "We booked it that way."

"And you didn't book a hotel as well? That was some impressively bad planning, lads," England said dryly. His frown subsided some at finally receiving the truth, but he was still disappointed in his brothers.

"No, we thought it would be nice to visit for a while," Canada said. "I mean, how often do we get to just visit with you? And we never really see Sealand since he's not supposed to go to meetings."

England was rendered speechless. Canada was right, of course. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd visited with his North American siblings. They saw each other frequently, of course, at the various meetings, but those were always about business. And whenever they celebrated a birthday or holiday, everything was too hectic for England to simply sit down and chat with his former colonies.

In a way, he was flattered that the twins had taken time out of their busy schedules to spend a day with him and Sealand.

"Are you _blushing_, England?" America asked, leaning forward to get a better look. England turned off the lamp with a sharp click, hoping his flushed cheeks weren't luminescent. It was silly that such a sentiment would make him blush like that. But England was an easy blusher — nearly _anything _would make his cheeks turn red, much to his siblings' (and France's) amusement.

"I think he is," Canada whispered.

"I'm not!"

"Then why did you turn the lights off?" America asked. Of all the times for America to exhibit proper logical thought, it would _have _to be when England was sufficiently embarrassed.

"It's high time for bed, that's why I turned out the lights," England retorted. "Besides, Sealand is asleep and I was worried the light might wake him up."

"You weren't worried about that when you first turned the light on," America pointed out.

"Yes, because I was more concerned about the fact you _lied _to me," England smiled to himself. He hadn't forgotten that particular transgression. He didn't know where America and Canada had learned to lie. He certainly hadn't taught it to them. It was probably Spain or the Netherlands' influence.

Not France, though. The bloody frog was always unfailingly and terribly honest in his intentions.

"White lies never hurt anyone," America said petulantly. England could practically see him pouting, even in the darkness of the room.

"Think about it, England. If we had stopped by and said 'oh, we planned a visit and didn't tell you about it,' you would've gotten all angry that we dropped by unannounced," Canada explained. "We thought it would be easier if we pretended we hadn't planned anything."

"Easier?" England had to ask. "How is _this_ easier?" He wouldn't have objected to his younger siblings staying with him for a day. As Canada said, they hadn't really visited with each other in a long time. It would have been nice to catch up on the personal goings-on of his siblings, rather than just the professional.

"Dude, England, you're awful when people come over," America said. "You get all panicky and clean the entire place with a toothbrush and you dress everyone up really nicely and you make way too much food, even for me. And you're always all worried that everything is going to go wrong and everyone will hate you forever."

England scoffed. He just wanted to make the place look _presentable_ for when people came for a visit. It was common etiquette.

"So we figured it was probably better to make up some excuse and drop in unannounced so you wouldn't have to panic like that," Canada finished. His tone suggested that it was entirely his idea, which didn't really surprise England in the slightest. He was the more devious of the twins, after all.

"And you didn't!" England could hear America's smile, and he was vaguely surprised it didn't glow in the dark. "You were your normal grouchy self and you didn't try to be a 'proper English gentleman' and you even joined in our pillow fights and pirate wars! We should hang out more often!"

England hesitated. As much as he hated to admit it, America sort of had a point. It was sort of nice to avoid the hassle of a planned visit. Since he hadn't cleaned the place or prepared any food beforehand, it left him free to (try to) read and simply enjoy his siblings' company.

"Fine, fine," England relented. "I do not appreciate being lied to, but I am glad you stopped by. Just, next time, promise you'll tell me beforehand?"

"No can do, Iggy," America chirped. "Didn't we just say you were a lot more fun when we didn't tell you we were coming? Besides, you have to visit me next time."

"Or me," Canada put in.

"I don't think England could find your house, Canada," America said with a laugh.

"I know exactly where Canada lives!" England tried to defend himself. It was mostly true. He knew Canada's government was in Ontario somewhere — Ottawa, that was the city! — and it was reasonable to assume Canada lived nearby. England was sure he had the address written down _somewhere_.

Besides, he'd been to Canada's house before. Just because he often took a rather roundabout way of getting there didn't mean he couldn't find the place eventually.

"You could visit me!" Apparently Sealand had woken up at some point, and finally decided he ought to be part of the conversation. "The mighty nation of Sealand welcomes all delegates, even Jerk England's."

"What are you doing awake?" England asked. Sealand had definitely been asleep, and he was usually a very heavy sleeper. They weren't being _that _loud, even if America _was _part of the conversation.

"Nobody ever comes and visits me," Sealand said, ignoring England's question. Or, judging by the sleepy sound of his voice, he wasn't properly awake enough to even realise a question had been asked. "Except for England."

"We'll stop by next time we're in Europe," Canada said quietly. "Go back to sleep, Sealand."

"Good," Sealand said. There was a rustle of blankets as he shifted to get more comfortable, and he quickly settled back to sleep.

"Well, that solves our problem of who's hosting our next bro-tastic get-together," America said. "I wonder if Sealand has a McDonalds?"

England sighed. "Just go to sleep, you idiot."

* * *

><p><strong>I explained the plot!<br>England always goes through D.C. when he visits Ottawa.  
>France has a tendency to wind up in Quebec City.<br>And no, Sealand does not have a McDonalds._  
><em>****Until next time!  
><strong>**~Craic**


	14. The Morning After

**A/n - I am absurdly proud of this chapter title. Also, my new goal is to finish updating this ancient story (I wrote this like two years ago! GUH) before September, because once grad school starts I will have no time for anything except crying.**

**And then, like an idiot, I posted the wrong version of this chapter. Dammit, Craic.**

**Disclaimer - I own nothing, and it will remain that way until I finally finish my stupid novel.**

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><p>Perhaps unsurprisingly, England was the first one awake the next morning. The surprise came from the fact that he couldn't move. Despite the fact that they had all started off with their own piles of blankets, England found himself uncomfortably situated beneath his younger siblings.<p>

Sealand was pressed up against his side, sandwiched between England and Canada. His arms were draped over England's chest, and Canada seemed to be holding Sealand like a teddy bear... or, more precisely, like a polar bear. America was lying on England's legs and drooling on his knee, much to England's disgust.

There was no way he'd be able to get up without waking everyone. And he was well aware that America could be rather grumpy prior to his morning coffee. England didn't even want to _think _about inadvertently awakening _Canada_.

So England sat there and concentrated hard on making at least _one _of them move enough for him to get up. He wanted a cup of tea, and he had to get started on breakfast, and his bladder was demanding attention.

Several long minutes passed with no results, and England wondered what time it was. Sealand was usually an early riser, probably a holdover from his days as a military structure. But Sealand had been up rather late last night, so it stood to reason he would sleep late.

As if on cue, Sealand shifted a few times and half sat up, his bleary green eyes meeting England's. "Good morning," he said with a wide yawn.

"Would you mind getting off me?" England asked, temporarily forgetting his manners in his need to use the loo. "Oh, good morning."

Sealand kicked at Canada, pushing the northern nation off him. Canada made a grumbling sound and rolled over, clutching for something else to hold. Finding a pillow, he snuggled it to his chest and settled back to sleep. England never realised Canada was so... cuddly. Of course, Canada had been a rather clingy child, but England thought he'd grown out of it. He supposed that explained the polar bear.

"Oi, America, wake up," Sealand said, giving America a good whack on the head. America made a noise somewhere between a snore and a choke. He sat up blearily and wiped the drool off his chin.

"What's wrong? Is someone dying? I'm the hero, I'll save the day," America rambled, groping around for his glasses. England hoped America had taken care to put them up somewhere safe before the bedroom pile-up. He didn't want to have to deal with America wailing over someone crushing Texas. Again.

"You were sleeping on England's legs," Sealand informed him. "I rescued him."

"Thanks, Sealand," England said, mildly surprised at Sealand actually acting kindly toward him. It didn't happen all that often.

"I saved you, will you recognise me now?" Sealand asked. England rolled his eyes. Of course he had an ulterior motive. "Or at least go make breakfast?"

"Let me see what I can do," England said. "The kitchen is still a mess, remember?" America — now awake, and having procured Texas from somewhere — and Sealand both nodded. First thing was first, though, and England made a direct beeline for the toilet.

Upon returning to the bedroom, England found America and Sealand missing. Canada was still curled on the floor with his pillow, snoring softly. He let Canada be. The whereabouts of America and Sealand were a much more pressing concern. For them, it was never too early to wreck England's house.

There were overt sounds of destruction, thankfully, but England checked the study first anyway. Most of his valuables had been hidden there, since it was the least likely place for America to go. As a child, he had claimed an allergy to books, and even as a full-grown, independent nation, America avoided the room.

The study was empty, as was the living room. A quick glance outside revealed a light dusting of snow — it was much colder today than yesterday — but no wayward nations. England was actually beginning to worry, though he wasn't sure if it was for the state of his house or for the condition of his missing brothers.

"England!" Sealand bounded down the hallway, wearing one of England's nice shirts and a pair of yellow rubber gloves. The shirt was covered in what looked like soapy water and cleaning fluid, much to his dismay.

"What on earth have you been doing?" England asked, almost afraid to learn the answer. "And why are you wearing my shirt?"

"I couldn't clean up in any of _my _shirts, they'd get ruined and then you'd make me go shopping again," Sealand replied, as if it were abundantly obvious. England was not exactly satisfied with the explanation, and he resolved to take Sealand with him when he went to buy a replacement shirt. "And we're cleaning the kitchen so you can make breakfast."

"You're _what_?" England couldn't quite believe his ears. Sealand and America, willingly cleaning something? He was reasonably sure that was a sign of the Apocalypse. He was going to have to get in touch with MI6 to make sure Russia hadn't launched missiles at anybody.

"You said you couldn't make breakfast if the kitchen was a mess, so America and I cleaned it up. Even though the mess was all your fault," Sealand was only vaguely accusatory, which was a refreshing change. England was beginning to wonder if he'd somehow woken up in some sort of parallel universe. In a moment, America was going to make England a nice cup of tea, pull all his deployed troops, and start talking about existentialism.

"That's," England began, his voice slightly strangled. He still wasn't sure what to make of the situation. In a way, it was scarier than America and Sealand wantonly destroying his house. He swallowed and tried again. "That's very kind of you. Thanks."

"Go make breakfast," Sealand said, pointing toward the kitchen. England nodded jerkily.

By the time he reached the kitchen, he had come to terms with Sealand and America cleaning. In a way, it made sense. If the kitchen was ruined, there would be no food. Ergo, the kitchen had to be fixed. And Sealand and America were hungry and impatient, which meant they had to fix the kitchen before food could be had.

"The stove is almost done!" America said, pulling his head out from the formerly-destroyed appliance. "Oh, hi England!"

"I see you lot aren't chasing me out of the kitchen this time," England noted dryly. America shrugged.

"Canada's still asleep, so you get to make breakfast," America answered. "Besides, everyone knows the only thing anyone in the Isles can cook worth a damn is breakfast."

England chose not to comment on the remark, and instead went about gathering the necessary components for a proper fry-up. Soon the kitchen was smelled of sizzling bacon, and America was practically drooling over his plate.

"America, go wake your brother," England directed as he plated the first round of breakfast. If Canada wasn't up soon, he'd miss breakfast in its entirety. America couldn't be trusted to leave enough for the late-riser.

"Do I have to?" America whined.

"You know the rules. Nobody gets any breakfast until Canada is at the table," England said as he poured three cups of tea. The rule was a holdover from the colonial days, when America and Canada still lived with England. After Canada's invisibility caused him to miss quite a few meals, England established that nobody was allowed to eat unless Canada was present and accounted for.

"Why can't Sealand do it?" America asked, pointing at the smaller nation. "He's the youngest!" Sealand stuck out his tongue and continued monitoring the toaster. England had put him in charge of toast in order to keep him from getting underfoot.

"He's making toast. You're sitting there drooling all over the plates," England said. "You should go make yourself useful."

"Fine, fine," America said with a pout. "But I expect extra bacon!"

* * *

><p><strong>Abrupt ending is abrupt.<br>And a proper English breakfast is the most delicious and least healthy thing ever.  
>Mmmm, fried food.<br>I like to think America knows _how _to do housework; he's just really lazy.  
>I'd make update promises but I'd just let you down.<br>Until next time!  
>~Craic<strong>


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